In a Time of Sorrow
by Losseniaiel
Summary: When the Great Plague sweeps Middle-earth, Elrond’s place is tending to the sick. But as he returns to Imladris, he discovers that he is not as invulnerable as he thought… Chapters 6 & 7 up.
1. Default Chapter

                                                                                    **In a Time of Sorrow**

By Losseniaiel

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimers:** All Tolkien's not mine.  No money is being made and no infringement of copyright is intended.

**Summary:** When the Great Plague sweeps Middle-earth, Elrond's place is tending to the sick.  But as he returns to Imladris, he discovers that he is not as invulnerable as he thought… Elrond/Celebrían.

**A/N:** According to Appendix B of Lord of the Rings, a plague devastated Middle-earth is 1636 of the Third Age.  It swept through Gondor, killing King Telmnar and his children, and also spread northwards.  As Tolkien describes it, it was catastrophic.  

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*fanfare of trumpets* … humble thanks to Nemis for betaing *offers large amounts of chocolate*

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He swayed in the saddle, wearied to the bone by his exertions.  He had never felt this tired… so tired that his bones ached, but he put it down to the burden of grief weighing upon him.

_*I could not save them … I could not save them*_

The litany of despair resounded in his head.  

Myriad images passed before his eyes … dead children cradled in the arms of parents who were themselves sickening … the sweet merry faces of the Periannath contorted in hideous death … villages where not a soul remained, and the birds devoured the ripening crops in the fields…

He had wept many hot tears for those he could not save, and for the waste of Arnor… But if the Northern Kingdom suffered, it was nothing to the desolation of Gondor.  Elrond cringed at the thought.  The news of sickness had come too late for him to ride out to tend King Telmnar, and he had perished along with all his children.

_*I have failed you, Elros*_

Now the healer longed for the simple quiet of Imladris and, having seen so much wasteful death, for the company of the deathless, and among them one above all…

The Bruinen was drawing close.  He could feel the tug of the secluded valley on Vilya, and of Celebrían on his heart.  He spurred his horse forward, galloping along the great road, but then rain came upon them in torrents.  In a matter of moments he and the company were drenched, the freezing water plastering their garments to their chilled bodies.

As he shivered convulsively, Elrond remembered those he had been unable to save, how they had shuddered and burned under his hands, how they had fallen into deep nightmares and pleaded for forgiveness for crimes they had not committed, weeping under even the gentlest touch.

He wiped his hands on his breeches as he recalled how their blood had stained them red as the dawn as they coughed helplessly, and, most of all, their anguished expressions as they passed beyond Arda.  He both blessed and cursed himself in that instant for his fate to be spared death himself but to be forced to witness the suffering of others.

A boiling wave of heat overcame him, and when he raised his hand to his brow it came away slicked not only with rain but also with sweat.  Dismissing it immediately as the product of his dismal thoughts, he pressed on, desperate to race through the corridors of Imladris and seek solace in the arms of his beautiful wife.

The river was ahead of him.  Only a short distance separated him from his home.  Suddenly nausea assailed him, and he rocked on his mount, dizzy and quaking.  He shook his head, but even that did not seem to clear the fuzziness which had settled there.

They rode into the ford, the horses' hooves kicking up a spray of water.  As he began to feel more and more detached from reality, Elrond reeled, blackness staining the edge of his vision.  He tried to steady himself, grapping a handful of the horse's mane, but it slipped though his lax fingers and he crashed into the foaming waters.

Glorfindel sprang from his horse and, before the current could bear the inert figure away, lifted his lord into his arms and sprinted up the bank.  He crashed into the main courtyard, hollering for help, his desperate eyes constantly fixed on the limp figure in his arms, dripping black hair not quite concealing a vicious gash on one temple where a protruding rock had broken his fall.

Even before the rest of the household was roused Celebrían dashed into the square.

"What is it, Glorfindel?  Where is my husband?" she said urgently.

As her words fell into a numbed silence she caught sight of the figure cradled in her friend's arms.  Rushing to him, she asked, "What has happened?  Was it an orc attack?"

"Nay, my lady," Glorfindel resorted to formality in the face of his terrible fear.  "I know not what happened; only that he slipped from his horse as we crossed the Bruinen, and has not awoken."

Together they bore Elrond into the house and laid him on the bed in the rooms he shared with his wife.

"Meleth-nîn," she begged.  "Meleth- nîn…"

All other words failed her, but at the clamour the house began to stir.  In a short space of time Elladan stood in the doorway, a robe draped over his nightclothes, rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

"What is it, Ammë?" he asked.

"Fetch a healer at once," Celebrían snapped, too distracted to be gentle to her eldest son.

"Ada has not arrived yet… shall I…?"

Celebrían interrupted him.

"This is about your father."  She gestured to the figure laid on the pristine bed and Elladan's eyes widened in blind panic.  He stumbled hurriedly from the room, catching his robe on the ornately carved doorpost as he went.  Cursing fluidly in the Common Speech, he ripped the fine fabric and thundered down the corridor.

Once his footsteps had faded into the distance, Celebrían returned her attention to her husband, frantically stripping him of his drenched clothing and wrapping him in the warm blankets.  He looked so peaceful as he slumbered, but a hectic flush had risen to his cheeks and he wandered not in the dreams of the elves but those of Men.

"I heard the noise…" Elrohir trailed off, his sister peering over his shoulder.  Celebrían noticed with detached, humourless amusement that the more sombre twin had managed to don a pair of breeches, yet his nightshirt lay over the top of them.  Arwen, however, was still fully clothed, although her blue dress was damp and her hair clung to her face in tendrils.

_*Probably in the gardens, despite the rain, dreaming of her Beren*_

With a quick glance both children hurried to their father's side.

"What ails him?" Arwen spoke first, her musical voice harsh with dread.

"I know not, nor does Glorfindel.  Oh, what can it be?" Celebrían's voice rose in misery and her children swiftly moved to comfort her.

"Hildor and the other healers will know what afflicts Ada, and he will be well by morning," Elrohir murmured, although he did not entirely believe his own words.

At that moment, Elrond's assistant appeared in the doorway flanked by Elladan and a deathly-pale Glorfindel.  He moved to the elf-lord's side, checking the temperature of Elrond's forehead and the pulse in his neck with agile fingers.  He glanced at Celebrían questioningly, his fingers resting on the edge of the coverlet.

"Do whatever you must!" the silver-haired elf exclaimed, and the healer pulled down the sheets to expose the other's chest.  The observers exhaled in horror as they saw that which had until that time escaped their attention: a rash of hideous red pin-pricks mottling Elrond's skin.

Hildor sighed.

"'Tis as I feared," he said tiredly.  "The sickness which sweeps these lands has infected Lord Elrond."

"You are surely mistaken," Celebrían said starting from her chair.  "He is an elf; he cannot have contracted this."  
  


"I would remind you that he is half-elven, my lady.  His human heritage may have left his exposed to this... this infection," he pronounced the word as if it was alien to him.

Celebrían's shoulders slumped.

"What do we do now?  What can we do?" she inquired miserably.

"We will attend our lord to the very limits of our skill.  Beyond that all we can do is wait," he intoned, with that leaving the room, preparing to gather medicinal herbs from Elrond's considerable store.  As one the family returned to their vigil, the children huddling close to both their mother and their unconscious father.

Celebrían cradled one pallid hand to her heart, entwining the unresisting fingers with hers.

"Do not leave me, I beseech you, melethron-nîn," she whispered.  Despite their fear, the children snickered at the endearment, and even Celebrían smiled through her tears at the familiar mockery.

TBC

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Meleth-nîn – my love

Ammë – mother; mummy

Ada – father; daddy (shortening of Adar – father)

Melethron-nîn – my (male) lover

**Feedback: **yes please *bounces up and down*


	2. Rumours

                                                                                    **In a Time of Sorrow**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimers:** No, they still don't belong to me.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to Nemis for betaing **send out even larger amounts of chocolate than before**

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By the next morning, the tale of the illness of the Master of the house had spread throughout Imladris. Although most mourned, there were a few darker rumours.

"When he dies … for it is certain that he will, for he will succumb like his human kin … Indeed, have you heard tell of the death toll in Arnor alone? Well, when he does, who will get you-know-what?" one Sindar elf muttered to his companion.

"Well, it could be the Lady Celebrían, she is strong enough, but she is, after all, female, and she will not take his death well. Or it could be one of the twins," replied the other, "but they are too young and reckless. What think you that it will be Lord Glorfindel?"

In a heartbeat, he found himself pinned to the intricately decorated wall by a deadly hand.

"Never speak such words again, do you hear me?' Elladan's teeth were tightly gritted. "My father _will _recover, and, in Mandos' name, if you air sentiments like these in my hearing, _you_ will not live to see it."

He felt his more cautious twin prying his fingers away from the gulping elf's neck, and Arwen hovering anxiously by his shoulder.

As they moved away, the eldest reluctantly, leaving a trembling wreck behind them, Elrohir called over his shoulder, "I may have saved you from an unpleasant fate at the hands of my brother, but never forget what Lord Elrond has endured. Then, as now, he triumphed."

Together they retreated to their parents' chambers.

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Shooing her anxious progeny away once more to sleep and then gather ingredients for a soothing tea, Celebrían finally rid herself of the fussing healers who had no more to add at the present time than their fears.

Afraid to jolt her husband, she crept onto their bed, curling herself around him; alleviating the burning heat of his limbs with her own cool ones. With shaking fingers she brushed stray strands of hair away from his face, tenderly tracing the arch of one eyebrow. Dazedly, he opened his unfocused eyes.

"You are here?"

"But of course, where else might I be but at your side?" she soothed him.

He reflected for a moment.

"But where am I?"

"You are in Imladris, my beloved," her voice broke. "You are at home."

Elrond nodded.

"I feel so weak, as if deathly poison runs through my veins," he croaked.

"Speak not such words, my beloved," she pleaded. "For you are merely ill, and will recover."

"How so? How can this be?"

"'Tis because of your human heritage, it seems, and because of your valour in tending the sick. You have the plague." Her exquisite face was sad yet proud.

"'Twas not valorous," he chuckled weakly, "for it was my duty, and I did not know that this would happen to me."

They were silent for a few moments, but Elrond grew restless.

"Celebrían," he sighed. "Do not leave me, but might you move away? I am burning with a terrible fire, and the heat of your body is more than I can bear."

Suppressing a sob, she moved back to the chair and reached for a pile of soft cloths lying ready. She dipped one in a basin of herb-scented cold water and, laying it on his feverish brow, found her hand once more captured in his clammy one.

"How Elros would laugh at me now!" His wide eyes blackened with sorrow. "But he is not here, and I miss him so much, at this time above all, for I am so very frightened."

"Shush, pen-nîn tithen." She clutched his hand, pressing a tender kiss to his knuckles. "Tell me about him."

And somewhere in the midst of a bittersweet tale of a fine summer's day spent playing by the sea, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his cheeks soaked with tears.

Glorfindel came to sit beside the lady, looking very much as if he had not slept, his usually beautiful face grey with exhaustion.

"Celebrían," he said softly. "Celebrían, you must rest; you must eat. Leave him with me for a few hours."

"No," she returned spiritedly. "Why should I sleep when you do not, Glorfindel?"

"You must try for his sake. You are no use to him as you are."

"But he is my husband!" she wailed, emotion overcoming her. "How can I leave him so?"

"Must I then set your sons to carry you to some suitable room, and you daughter to guard the door?" Glorfindel asked. Seeing how distraught she was, he gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently. "There, there, faeg hên."

As her muffled sobs subsided, he guided her from the room. Wandering aimlessly through the corridors, she found numerous curious eyes fixed upon her, scrutinising the tearstains on her face. The normally quiet lady was hard pressed to restrain herself from cursing them in the foulest language the border guards of Lothlórien knew. With a start, she realised that she was still clad in the gown she had donned to greet her husband's return, and that its fine fabric was creased beyond repair. Although she could not care less about her appearance in such dire times, she made her way to Arwen's chamber where her maids appeared to have congregated after their expulsion from the sick room, and chose new garments at random, tugging a comb roughly through her resisting hair.

A hovering maid pressed a lump of bread and cheese into her hand, and she accepted it, without really knowing what she did.

With shaky steps Celebrían made her way to the little pavilion on the water's edge where Elrond had first confessed his love to her in a nervous whisper.

Mindlessly, her thoughts bent on the wonder of that day and the horror of this, she began shredding the bread and cheese between her fingers. Soon she was surrounded by a hoard of eager ducks, but she paid them no attention. Finally, she curled into a ball on the stone bench and slept fitfully, the silver ring which Elrond had worn during their betrothal clutched in the palm of her hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The elf-lord awoke to fingers on the skin of his wrist, and cringed at the touch. The healer smiled reassuringly at him before tilting his head up and pouring a noxious draft down his throat. Elrond coughed and spluttered at the foul taste before swallowing. Through the fog which seemed to surround him he glimpsed Glorfindel regarding him anxiously.

"Well met, mellon-iaur," he gasped sardonically, and the blond lord was by his side instantly, scattering the assembled healers in his haste.

"Do you feel better, little one?"

Elrond desperately wanted to tell his friend reassuring lies, but his eyes betrayed him.

"It is no better," the golden-haired elf stated bluntly. The Master of Imladris tried to shake his head, but he winced at the effort, for the rasp of the cotton on his neck stung like a hail of arrows.

"Nay…" he trailed off.  "Where is Celebrían?"

"I practically had to threaten your wife with the Imladris Guard before she consented to rest. She should be sleeping."

Elrond murmured his thanks. Despite the terrible agony it caused him, he raised his arm to touch Glorfindel's hunched shoulder.

"When … when I am gone, take care of her for me. You should send a dispatch-rider to Lothlórien as soon as possible, for she will need Galadriel and Celeborn by her side." He gritted his teeth against the pain.

His companion sucked in his breath sharply, before responding. "I believe that Celebrían has already told you not to indulge yourself in this folly. Pray comply with her requests."

"But I feel it, Glorfindel. I feel death approaching, and in my mind's eye I can see Mandos beckoning to me." He began to fumble for Vilya.

"Do not even think of giving me that accursed ring!" the other barked. "I will not take it, for it is your burden to bear, and bear it you shall, until Sauron is finally defeated."

Elrond relented under the force of his glacial stare, but his own eyes were filled with death.

TBC

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pen-nîn tithen – my little one.

faeg hên – poor child.

mellon-iaur – old friend.

**Feedback **is the stuff of life.


	3. Dreams

**In a Time of Sorrow**

**Chapter Three**

**Disclaimers: **Not mine, even though I asked very nicely.

Thanks to Nemis for betaing.

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Celebrían returned with her children, and together they kept a lonely vigil over the ailing lord. As the next night faded into the dawn, Elrond slipped into a tormented dream-world, tossing and turning as the sheets irritated his sensitive skin, unable to bear even the touch of his wife's hand on his.

She began a song to lull him, and Arwen joined her, their sweet voices entwining, but in his delirium Elrond heard the lilting melody twist and change into the dread shrieks of the Nazgûl.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He was kneeling on a beach as the foul creatures howled around him. The sky roiled and seethed with heavy clouds, yet sunlight glinted on the water.

Elrond looked down at the prone figure before him and wailed in grief.

"No, no, my brother, it cannot be… I did not mean to… you must understand that my hand slipped. I never meant to kill you," he begged, but he held a knife in his hand, dripping with gore. There was a great gash beneath his twin's ribs, and his eyes were shut.

Frantically, the elf knelt down beside his twin and leaned over, pressing his hands to the wound, trying to heal him. His crystal tears fell fast into the red murk.

Without warning, a strong yet gnarled hand wrapped itself in the hair at the nape of his neck and hurled him backward onto the sand.

As he wiped salt-scented grit from his eyes Elros towered over him, his lifeless face terrible and wrathful. 

"How could you heal me, brother mine?" the man mocked, kicking sand into his face. "Your powers are nothing but the product of your overweening pride in your own knowledge, yet you are nothing; you know nothing. It is you who should have chosen the Doom of Men, and then _poor_ Elrond would suffer no more."

He leaned nearer and nearer. His brother could smell the stench of the grave clinging to him, and then he was choking, pinned to the rough sand … falling … falling…

~*~*~*~*~*~

Celebrían paced the room, wringing her hands.

"What can I do? Why do you not do more?' she demanded of the healer. "He cries out in his sleep and raves that he has killed his brother, and it destroys me as surely as it does him."

Hildor's response was the same as it had been for many hours, "We have spent all our energy and wisdom on him, as we always would, but now both have failed us. Even Lord Elrond when he was …he could not save many in Arnor."

"What were you going to say?" Celebrían's red-rimmed blue eyes flashed menacingly. "You were about to say 'when Lord Elrond was alive', were you not? He lives yet. Have you tried athelas?"

"Yes, my lady, we have indeed, but if you wish us to prepare some more…"

"Yes. Please do so. Bring a basin," she clipped out.

As they bathed her husband in the healing liquid he began to thrash wildly, and Celebrían wept in distress as her sons pinned their father's shoulders to the bed to still him, leaving red welts on the pale skin despite all their care.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He was back on the Dagor Dagorlad before the Black Gate of Mordor, in the thick of battle. As acrid smoke descended over the field of combat, he wielded his sword expertly, although he was cut off from all allies, and unnumbered crude weapons, in the hands of the servants of Sauron, clanged against his armour, ripping his cloak to shreds.

A horde of orcs bore down upon him, crushing him to the ground, his limbs ground into the mud, but he struggled up and fought on. He spun around in a deadly circle, decapitating three orcs with one fell sweep. His sweat-sodden black hair flew in his eyes, its leather tie long since lost and the braids unravelling.

He sliced and hacked and stabbed, but they surrounded him and overcame him, and suddenly he was garbed as one of them, and he charged down the hill towards the Last Alliance, screaming vile curses at the top of his voice.

Although he tried to resist it, he brought his sword smoothly, inflicting mortal wounds on both elves and men, in whose glazed eyes he caught glimpses of shock and hatred..

He looked up under the sharp brim of his helm to realise that Ereinion Gil-galad stood before him, the stars emblazoned on his armour shining even in the darkness.

"What foul treachery is this which has blackened your heart, my son?" the High King spat. Elrond tried to answer, but words failed him, and the towering figure continued, "You have failed me and all the Free Peoples. You shall no longer be known as Elrond, nor shall you be received anywhere in this world. I hope that Mandos has no pity on you…"

And he was drowning in his own blood, shame and terror coursing through him…

…He knelt before a tall figure, robed in night, and felt its pitiless, inscrutable gaze resting on him.

"Know this," the Doomsman of the Valar intoned, "you are as the dust before the wind, Elrond Eärendilion. Nothing you made will endure, nor will those you have loved survive the coming darkness."

And from the shadows Sauron laughed at the fate of the crumpled elf.

…And then he was held in the grip of a monstrous beast, all horns and tentacles and armour as hard as steel. It beat him against the rock wall until he was bruised and senseless, robbed of speech and thought.

...He was standing with Glorfindel, high on the battlements of Gondolin. As he flailed desperately with his sword the Balrog's fiery lash caught his legs from under him. He lay there, begging his muscles to move, but they would not obey him, and the creation of Morgoth bore down upon him, its grasp melting the flesh from his bones. Just when he thought that the pain would conquer him utterly, it turned away; its terrible eyes narrowing as it beheld Glorfindel. With a single leap it was upon the golden-haired elf, and Elrond screamed and pleaded as he watched the death of his charred friend…

~*~*~*~*~*~

Elladan hacked viciously at the tree, feeling the axe-blade sink through the layers of powdery dead wood. He poured all his frustration and hopeless rage against fate into the attack on the rotten oak.

"Mae govannen," a soft voice called from behind him. He whirled round, narrowly missing cleaving his twin in two.

"Be careful, gwanur-nîn," Elrohir cautioned him with a raised eyebrow.

"'Tis you who should be more careful, little one." Elladan wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the other flexing round the handle of the wood-axe. "What are you doing here, anyway? Should you not be with Erestor, keeping the House in order?"

"There are more important things to be done. We need to take Arwen outside; she needs to be away from Ada's chamber for a few hours. It pains her too much to see him like this."

"'Tis not our place to tell her what she should do. You know how much she hates our attempts to do anything of the sort," he protested.

"You are afraid of Arwen." Elrohir cast up his hands in exasperation. "She is no longer an elfling, I'm sure that you will be perfectly safe … unlike the time when she shredded your favourite tunic…"

Elladan started to respond, but his brother's face was so grim and determined that he acquiesced, and they went in search of their sister.

The Evenstar sat by Elrond's side while Celebrían dozed fretfully in an armchair. In a low voice the maiden read the Lay of Leithian to her father, who seemed to be momentarily lucid. As they entered he shifted his head slightly, and murmured, "Hello, gwanûn. Come here."

They obeyed, slipping across the room soundlessly to stand by his side. Even in the brief time they had been absent, he had deteriorated further. His black hair was spread across the pillows, contrasting shockingly with the deathly pallor of his face. When he weakly stretched out one hand to them it was hot and cold at once, the veins showing through the translucent skin. Elladan could not contain a shudder of despair.

"Ada." Elrohir forced his voice to remain light and merry as he bent down to kiss his father's cheek. "We have come to steal Arwen away from you, if we may."

Their sister's blue gaze pierced them.

"I shall go nowhere."

"Nonsense, Undómiel." Elrond tried to rally some of his usual mellifluent gravity, but even the effort of speaking left him breathless. "I wish you to go with your brothers. I do not forever need a nursemaid."

Protesting, she left the room, her brothers holding her tightly. When she made to return, they tickled her until she submitted through her teary giggles, and walked with them out into the gardens.

Celebrían, awoken by her children's voices, locked eyes with her husband's clouded grey ones.

"I am glad that they are so close," he whispered. "It will make it easier for them to cope when I am gone."

"Never say such things," his wife choked. "Or do you wish to see me cry, you silly child?"

But he was already fading back into his dreams of darkness, and he could not reply that he never meant to hurt her.

*~*~*~*~*~

Arwen paced the path by the river, not caring that the hem of her dress was becoming muddied by the damp soil.

"Why did you take me away? I wished to be there!" she cried suddenly.

"There was nothing you could do," Elladan answered. "'Tis better that you see the trees again, and he and Ammë need time together," Elladan answered, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot.

"Yes, time before he… I want to be by his side when…" she sobbed. The twins exchanged glances, sublimating their own fears for the sake of their baby sister.

"Do not despair, Undómiel." Elrohir gathered her close. "There may yet be hope which we cannot see."

Weeping uncontrollably she buried herself in his arms until no more tears would flow. Extricating herself slowly, she strode off down the path. Elladan and Elrohir hurried after her.

"Where are you going?"

"To pick flowers," Arwen called back. "Ada must be reminded of the valley which depends on him."

Shaking their heads at her whimsical notions, but unable to deny her, they followed the route she chose to the high meadows.

*~*~*~*~*~

When at last they returned, laden down with flowers, a din rose to meet them from the main courtyard. Their breathing fast with fear, they sped into the confines of the Last Homely House, terrified at what they might see, and stopped dead at the uproar which greeted them.

TBC

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Translations:

Mae govannen - well met.

gwanur-nîn - my brother.

gwanûn - twins.

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	4. Unwelcome Guests

                                                                                    **In a Time of Sorrow**

**Chapter Four**

Thanks to Nemis for betaing.

Thanks for all the reviews.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It took a few moments for them to realise that a party of strangers milling around in the courtyard was the focus of attention.  They exhaled in relief.

A tall blond elf sat astride a horse, looking disdainfully down at Erestor who was trying his utmost to soothe the visitor's injured pride.

"I am Lord Halmir, and I come as an emissary from Círdan at the Havens to discuss matters of great import. I expected to be greeted by the Master of the House, not by some lowly underling."

Erestor bridled and looked helplessly to Glorfindel, but the seneschal only shrugged, having already been rebuked.

"Lord Elrond is indisposed." Elladan stepped forward.

"And who might you be?" Halmir's eyes swept over him.

"I am Elladan, Elrond's son." The Peredhel drew himself up to his full imposing height.

"Lord Círdan would not want me to be greeted by an elfling." The Sindar elf waved his hand in dismissal.

"Nor would the Shipwright wish to endanger the life of the Master of Rivendell," an imperious voice came from the archway which led into the interior of the house. The assembled elves looked up in surprise to see Celebrían standing there, her gown crumpled and her face weary. "Lord Halmir, my husband is gravely ill and cannot greet you. You must accept our hospitality in his stead."

"What foolery is this?" Halmir riposted. "We elves do not fall sick. Let Elrond of Imladris meet with me and cease in the profession of these ridiculous excuses for avoiding our discussions, however much he might dislike them." 

Blue fire flashed in the silver-haired elf's eyes.

"As you are so fond of reminding us," she replied tautly, "my husband has human blood. Because of this, he has contracted the plague which sweeps through these lands."

Halmir was taken aback, but he still blustered, "If he is as ill as you say, let us judge for ourselves."

There could be no mistaking the cold fury on Celebrían's face.

"The Lord of Imladris is far too ill to receive visitors. You will have to accept that I speak the truth, Halmir,"" she said icily, her use of his name reminding him that while her husband had taken no royal title, he far outranked this petty Sindar noble, as did she.

Sullenly, he acquiesced. Behind him Celebrían could see a tall slim youth, who, despite his black hair, bore a profound resemblance to the emissary, but she dismissed it from her mind. Turning, she hurried back in doors, her flower-laden children at her heels, leaving the household to deal with the visitors.

~*~

Darkness surrounded him, stretching from horizon to horizon. There was neither light nor sound, and time itself seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Elrond knew not how long he stood in that desolate place before the first figure emerged from the shadows. Soon, however, there was a great crowd before him.

The Peredhel stared, recognising in that sea of faces all those he had cherished. Celebrían and their three children, standing close to one another. Elwing, her fingers entwined with those of Eärendil, from whose face shone an unearthly light. Gil-galad, once more whole and alive, his coronet upon his dark head. Elros, as young as he had been when he chose the Doom of Men. His dear friends, Glorfindel and Erestor, and a host of others whom he had known in the long years.

Elrond's heart filled with joy to see them all, love welling up within him until it was all he could feel. He started towards them, a torrent of words springing to his lips, a dazzling smile of welcome dawning on his face.

But they turned from him, scorn written on their features, and passed once more into the indescribable void. Only one was left.

"Maglor!" Elrond stretched his hands out in greeting to the elf of whom he had grown fond, despite all the crimes which hung between them.

Maglor's face contorted in disgust.

"I may be a kinslayer," he spat, "but I was never such a traitor as you. You let your king die. You allow your children to wander in the wilderness and your wife to languish in your gardens while you devote more of yourself to books than to her. I may be damned, but my sins are nothing compared to yours."

Elrond felt the cruel words rend his soul asunder.

"Mag… Maglor…" he wept. "Please … no … speak no more. I know I have been foolish but…"

"But nothing," the Noldo laughed harshly, the sound seeming incongruous in this place of nothingness. "I wish my father had been there that accursed day when I found you. "Fëanor would have known what to do with such a worthless whelp as you. He would have left you to burn in the ruins of Sirion, or have thrown you into the sea after your mother."

The Peredhel could no longer bear the condemnation in the singer's sweet voice and cast himself into the abyss which yawned before him, willingly surrendering himself to oblivion.

~*~

Halmir fiddled impatiently with the fine stem of his wineglass as he gazed sidelong at the members of the household arrayed around the table.

"It is unusual that the family sit down to their meals thus, is it not?" he remarked snidely to Arwen whose robe was slightly torn from a tussle with a rose bush. Her brothers looked no better, the sleeves of their hastily donned robes rolled up to their elbows, their black hair barely combed and their breeches covered in grass-stains from where they had wrestled in the grass, desperate to work off some of their nervous energy. 

"But it is indeed an unusual and tragic course of events which leads us to this day, and we must all mourn its coming." Gelmir blushed faintly as the words left his mouth but met his father's quelling stare resolutely.

It was only her upbringing which prevented Arwen from cheering at the much-needed retort coming from such an unexpected quarter. Shooting the youngster a thankful look, she raised her glass high.

"That it is. Let us toast to the Lord of Imladris' safe recovery." Her fingers trembled as they clutched the goblet, but with a great effort she kept her voice steady.

Much though he might dislike the Master of Rivendell, distrusting his mixed blood and suspicious of his motives in refusing the crown of the High Kings, Halmir did not wish Elrond dead. Nor was he entirely indifferent to the quavering emotion in the Lady Arwen's plea. With a brief nod, he drained the fragrant wine from his glass. His son did the same with a brief prayer on his kind lips, and the frightened folk of the haven followed him.

~*~

Elrond turned to Celebrían who stood by his side, garbed all in sky-blue, silver filigree jewellery glinting in the sunlight. With one hand he tucked a white rose into her shining hair, and with the other he drew her to him, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, one of the many they had shared in their enduring devotion. He admired the play of her eyelashes on her cheeks, amazed as always that she was his…

But she stiffened against him and backed away, her nails digging into his arm. Baffled, he looked at her with confusion in his grey eyes.

"What is it, melethril-nîn?" he inquired.

"Do not call me that," she hissed. "I am not yours. I never was."

"You are not mine?"

"No. You disgust me. How could you think that I would love you, you with your Edain blood which coarsens your features? How could I love a half-elf?"

She crept closer, winding her arms sinuously round his neck.

"You will never belong," she whispered in his ear, "least of all in my arms. You revolt me. No longer will you press your odious caresses upon me."

Then she laughed, much as Maglor had.

"I never loved you," she repeated. "This is my love."

And she embraced a faceless elf who suddenly stood by her side, and kissed him, her hands roaming across his slight body. Elrond was rooted to the spot, watching her display in mute misery.

"Well? What have you to say, Elrond Peredhil?" she said, raising her head from her lover. But he could find no words to express his anguish.

~*~

He awoke to find Celebrían leaning over him in concern.

"No!" he yelled, leaping from the bed. "Do not torment me so, my beloved. I shall leave you alone, I promise. I never thought that I could keep you. I never imagined that you would love me. Please…"

She stared at her husband with wide eyes as he stood, shivering and naked, in the corner of the room. She advanced towards him with her hands spread, her heart shattering.

"I love you, El-nîn," she pleaded. "You are my only star."

He cringed away from her, but she steadfastly held out one hand to him.

"Trust me, meleth-nîn. I am here, and I love you and cannot bear to be parted from you."

He looked at her with his eyes black with fear, but eventually he threw himself at her brokenly, shaking with tears. As he did so, his knees buckled under him and he collapsed into her waiting arms.

As she supported his lean frame back to the bed, he sobbed, "I … I thought that you did not love me … that you desired another…"

He sank into the soft pillows, and she tilted his chin up until the starlit grey eyes met hers.

"Never have I desired another as I desire you, body and spirit. I love you; I need you; you are my soul," she vowed. Despite his fever, she pressed a light kiss to his lips. "See."

He nodded silently, drawing her close. After many minutes of sheer exhaustion, he found his voice.

"Stay with me."

She sat beside his bed as the tide of delusion ebbed. She drew her fingers through his dark hair, gently removing the tangles until it shone despite his illness. Tenderly, she began to braid it, her fingers whispering across his temples. When they skimmed the sensitive tips of his ears, he focused on her. Celebrían smiled tremulously.

"Herven."

"I was dreaming?" he asked.

"Aye, it seems that 'tis the course this disease takes." She finished her task.

"And you love me?"

"Always," she choked. "How could you doubt it?" She held up her right hand so that he could see the intricate gold band on her index finger.

"Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." She smoothed the furrows from his forehead. "'Twas merely because you are sick."

As they sank into silence, she saw his eyes become suddenly clouded with fear.

"What is it? Share your concerns with me," she demanded worriedly.

"It is the onset of the final stage of the disease, is it not, my lord?" Hildor stood in the doorway, bowing slightly.

"Yes," Elrond croaked. "Once the … once the dreams pass, come the … come the…" His voice failed him.

Celebrían crossed the room to confront the healer.

"What then?"

"Once the dreams have passed, my lady, the patient begins to cough blood; palpitations follow. Few who reach that stage survive." 

"He knows this?"

"Naturally," Hildor's voice held a note of pride despite the dire circumstances.

"Gather my children," she commanded.

TBC

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

melethril-nîn – my (female) lover.

El-nîn – my star.

Herven – husband.


	5. Grieving

**In a Time of Sorrow**

****

Chapter Five

Thanks to Nemis for betaing this and to all my reviewers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the darkened corridor, Celebrían related to her children the bitter truth she had just discovered. Elladan and Elrohir hugged each other close, retreating into their childhood bond and Arwen wept openly, pausing only to wipe her eyes with one bedraggled lace cuff.

"What should we do?" they spoke in unison.

"I know not," Celebrían sighed, looking more child-like even than the three young elves who stood before her. "I know not."

Without a word, not needing to voice their mutual thoughts, they kissed her on the cheek and made their way to the shrine to Elbereth in the depths of the gardens.

They sank to their knees before the impassive stone figure, pressing their fingertips to first their lips then their foreheads.

"O Elbereth, Lady of the Stars," Arwen began uncertainly, feeling nausea overcome her. But her brothers' voices joined her faltering one, melding into a seamless harmony. "Do not let this fate take our father. We who cannot know your designs nevertheless implore your mercy and your blessing upon him, setting aside all thought even for ourselves."

They fell into a deep silence before continuing desperately, "Mandos, do not take Elrond Half-elven to your Halls, for merciful was the mission which has brought him to your doors, and great have his deeds been. We ask your grace, Doomsman of the Valar, for we know not where else to turn…"

They halted, unable to voice the grievous despair which was in their hearts. Out of the gloom behind them, they heard a melancholy voice raised in song, "O Elbereth Githoniel…"

They saw a tall, slender shadow emerge from the shadow of the densely growing trees, the glint of moonlight on raven hair resolving itself into Gelmir, the elf from the Havens. As he finished his lament, they whispered with him, "…Thy starlight on the western seas."

Gelmir bowed gracefully to the Peredhil.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you so," he murmured, "but I have heard the rumours which spread through Imladris, telling that the illness of its Master is even more serious than I had thought. As I wandered through the gardens, your voices came to me and I wished to add my entreaties to yours."

Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen embraced him as a brother of their hearts.

"Fear not Gelmir Halmirion of the Havens. We do not take your prayers ill, and we are glad that the folk of the coast share our sorrow."

"'Tis merely Gelmir this night," he said shyly.

"Well then, Gelmir," Arwen responded with a small smile. "Will you join your voice to ours?"

Together, the young elves turned their attention back to the Valar.

"Nienna, who weeps for all…"

~*~

Celebrían's silent prayers, as she watched her ailing husband helplessly cough blood onto an already scarlet handkerchief, were far more direct.

"Ilúvatar, I beg you, do not let my beloved die. He has done you great service, and will always do so. He has suffered much and known much and preserved Arda faithfully. He should not die because of his human heritage which gives him such strength. He bears the burdens placed upon him unswervingly … I cannot live without him…"

"What do you think of?" Elrond asked between paroxysms.

"Only how much I love you," Celebrían soothed him.

"Liar," he laughed weakly, dissolving into a grating fit of hideous coughing.

When the spasms had passed, Celebrían joked, "But of course I lie to you! If one cannot lie to one's husband, who else is there?" But her eyes swam with tears, no matter how much she tried to hide them from her husband.

He touched one hand to her sodden cheek.

"Do not fear, celeb loth-nin," he murmured. "I have made peace with this."

"But I do fear," she cried, hunting for a spare handkerchief.

"But we shall meet again, melethril-nîn, beyond the Sundering Seas and beyond the Halls of Awaiting."

"I cannot live that long without you. I would follow you to Mandos' care." She blew her nose defiantly.

"Do not. Promise me you will not." He clutched at her hand. "I feel it … my heart slowing … stumbling … and I could not bear for yours to do the same."

He caressed her face, bent close to the bed.

"I know this disease. I know that the end is near. The only thing that I ask is that you do not fade away."

~*~

The cold light of dawn broke on Imladris, and never had the brilliant colours of the valley seemed duller. As its lord hovered between life and death, the very air seemed to respond, growing chill and laden with care.

The faces of the inhabitants of the haven were grim with foreboding, their voices hushed as the corridors darkened under the onslaught of a bitter rainstorm. Almost no face was unmarked by the shadow of doom which lay over the Lord of Imladris.

Only Halmir seemed unaware.

"But this…" He gesticulated wildly. "This is entirely unreasonable."

Both Glorfindel and Erestor exclaimed in exasperation.

"It is a perfectly normal clause in a treaty of this kind," the seneschal explained, wishing that he could be anywhere else.

"I shall not accept it, for Círdan would not," Halmir resolved stubbornly. "I shall not accept it unless Elrond himself demonstrates its necessity."

The lords of Imladris exchanged a look of pure irritation.

"As you know…"

~*~

Having finally rid himself of the persistent Sindar lord, Glorfindel found Erestor in his study, tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto a ledger-book. Perching on the corner of the desk, he closed the volume firmly. The advisor looked up at him blearily.

"He has been like a brother to me. When my parents were killed…"

"Aye, I know."

Glorfindel remembered a certain elfling who had befriended him as he wandered, dazed, on the seashore. To return to Middle-earth had been a wondrous yet confusing thing, but this young orphan had not hesitated to approach the mysterious stranger who had arrived at the court of Gil-galad. Elrond had taken the bewildered elf's hand in his and led him through the city, explaining in a grave voice the history of the years which had passed. He had found himself admitted to the Peredhel's secret heart, later comforting the young warrior as his brother sailed away to Númenor. Later still, he had watched Elrond's tentative courtship of Celeborn's daughter with amusement, and rejoiced in the birth of their children. And now … and now his dearest friend was slipping into the darkness which he himself had experienced…

Glorfindel shook himself from his sorrowful reflections.

"I know," he repeated, unable to say more. 

Together, they worked in companionable silence on the treaty, mourning their friend without speech.

TBC

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	6. The Singer

                                                                                    **In a Time of Sorrow**

**Chapter Six**

*watches everyone panic*

**Odyssey:** Nemis wrote a wonderful ficlet called 'The Cold' which you can find at nemis.net, and then the evil angst bunnies got working, and there was the fic.

Cookies and applause to** Nemis** for betaing this.  

And to everyone, thanks for waiting.  I know this chapter is short, but I've given you two chapters at once.

And, I will grovel for reviews. *grovels* Give a little joy to a poor starving writer?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Through the grim pall of the night a stranger walked into Imladris. Bedraggled black hair hung limply in his face and his worn garments were soaked, yet he exuded a radiance, a sense of purpose which could not be denied. The guards who stood at his back knew not what to make of this traveller who would not show his face, and who commanded them to bring him to their lord with such natural authority.

Glorfindel descended the stairs silently, roused by the commotion. He scrubbed his hand across his face, wearied by grief and sleeplessness, before fixing his gaze on the wanderer who stood between the brightly mailed soldiers. The cloaked figure stood erect, his shoulders thrown back, yet the weight of the years seemed to lie as heavily upon him as on an ancient of Men.

Under the shadows of his hood, the stranger's eyes flared briefly in amazement at the sight of the golden-haired elf before they were once again veiled inscrutably.

"Tell them to leave," he said quietly, gesturing elegantly at the troops with one dirt-encrusted hand.

"Why should I?" demanded Glorfindel.

"It is better that we do this alone," the other responded enigmatically.

Seeing no harm in it as a sword hung by his side, the elf-lord dismissed the soldiers and waited impatiently.

"Well, will you speak with me now?"

As if he was unused to the action, the stranger lowered his hood.

Pale skin riven by lines of sadness glowed under Ithil's wan light.  Grey eyes which had seen too much of blood and toil gazed beseechingly upon the lord.

"Kinslayer!" Glorfindel hissed, unsheathing his weapon with a fluid movement.

"Nay, nay!" Maglor held up his hands. "I do not deny who or what I am, but I come here to do no ill. I merely wish to heal the elf you know as Elrond."

"Why should I believe you?  Why should I let a slayer of his own kinsmen see one who lies nigh unto death?  Tell me, son of Fëanor, why I should not hound you out into the Wilderland with all the guard of Imladris on your heels?"

Glorfindel advanced until the point of his blade rested in the crook of Maglor's neck, pricking the sensitive skin, drawing a slender trail of blood.

"You do not have to believe me," the Noldo rasped. "But you will notice that I bear no weapon."

With deft hands Glorfindel searched him, alert not only for a concealed blade but also for vials of poison. Finding nothing, not even a knife such as one would use on meat; he stepped back, still regarding the other warily.

"I wish no harm to him," the son of Fëanor sighed. "I never did. I loved him like a son, although I did great wrong to him in the Sack of Sirion, and by virtue of that he was not mine to love."

"How did you know of his illness?" Glorfindel asked sharply, not allowing his guard to be shaken, his sword-point raised.

"I … I do not know," Maglor said in a hushed voice, and there was wonder in his face.  For an instant, the golden-haired lord could see the elf he had once been, so very long ago. "But I believe that this is part of my penance for what I did. 'Tis my fate."

Against his judgement Glorfindel found himself leading Maglor into the house.

"Do him ill, and you will be dead before your hand has fallen," he warned.

~*~

Celebrían slept the sleep of the exhausted in a chair, her blue eyes staring vacantly into space as the two elves entered the room.

The golden-haired Eldar stood over the other as he clasped Elrond's hand to him.

He was surprised to see anguished tears start in those wearied eyes, and the marks of pain etched even deeper.

"Ai, ion-nîn," he croaked.  "That it should come to this…"

The elf-lord let out a wracking cough, blood staining his pale lips deep red. As if the effort cost him the last of his strength, he opened his eyes. 

"Mandos?" he questioned, and at his words the kinslayer's heart twisted, just as it had when he had let the young twins wander off into the wilderness.  So many years had passed, yet, once again in his long life, he faced the seeping power of loss…

"Nay. 'Tis not Mandos. I am Maglor. Do you remember me?"

Elrond nodded, too exhausted and confused to speak, and Maglor could almost feel the irregular beat of the half-elf's pulse within himself and the warm, choking blood bubbling up from overtaxed lungs.

"My powers have gone too long unused, pen-nîn tithen, but let me put forth some fraction of the skill which once I had to your aid."

As Maglor began to sing, the Lord of Imladris slipped further and further from life, his eyes dulling, the fire within him fleeing.

The tension leeched from the minstrel's face, and a great power overtook him, sweeping through his veins.  Arda Marred was lost to him, and he stood once more before Galathilion in Tirion, unmarred, unbroken, when the world was young.

There was nothing except red-flecked blackness before Elrond, but the sweet melody penetrated his fading consciousness, more beautiful than anything he had ever heard before. It carried hints, it almost seemed, of the Song of the Ainur which was before the world, and it comforted his failing soul.

It soared around him, soothing his aching lungs and steadying his erratic heart with its certain rhythm, as if the song was both within and without, life beyond life.

It rose and fell, entrapping him in its honeyed chords as he took a deep, ragged breath, his lacerated throat protesting.

It was unique, each note suffused with the strength of the Ages and wisdom born of great sorrow.  He could not grasp it, could not comprehend the full force of its being, but it seemed to him in that moment that he was swept away from the labouring agony of his body, far, far out into the star-studded night.  With trembling mind, he reached out to touch the brightest point of all, but it was beyond his reach, forever beyond his reach, and he was falling…

It was sublime, invoking all the beauty of Arda and all the splendour of Aman, the glory of days past and days yet to come.

A terrible yearning swept through him, and he saw with the last flicker of his dying sight, the minstrel, robed in majesty and cloaked in sorrow, and he understood.  The song was the singer and the singer the song, one surging arc of being, of which this new sorrow was but a single chord.

It seemed to fill the room, engulfing the occupants, even uncertain Glorfindel who stood guard with his hand resting tensely on the pommel of his sword.

Celebrían awoke, stirred from her slumber by the glittering fall of notes, and simply stared at the bedraggled, travel-stained figure bending over her husband's limp form, too stunned to speak.

At last the song ended, and Maglor collapsed to the floor, drained, all his energy poured into the elf on the bed.

"Dear child," he muttered as he levered himself upright. "Dear child, sleep and be well again."

Elrond's eyes flickered open, the last wisp of starlight reflected in their muted depths.  With an agony of effort, he stretched out one paper-thin hand to rest in benediction on the slumped head.

"Is it really you, mellon-nîn?"

"Aye, although I do not deserve that name.  I … I… should not have done as I did.  'Twas a great crime against you.  If I…"

"You do deserve the name of friend, for you were kind to us," the peredhel gasped, fighting for air. "No evil lingers between you and me. Thank you for trying … thank you for coming to see me one last time … thank you for your song, for I shall not hear its like again until I am released from the Halls of Awaiting."

"Nay, my beloved son, you will not die … you must not," Maglor urged him, his fingers twisting in the bed-covers.

"A song can heal the hurts of elves, but maybe not those of mortal Men … and I am neither one nor the other, as Maedhros reminded you. Thus, I cannot be saved."

"Great deeds yet await you.  I beg you, do not die."  One hand was lifted in beseeching denial, and, for the first time, its true horror was revealed.

Red on red, an endless network of half-healed scars, crossing and recrossing the scorched palm in a web of despair.

"The gem." Elrond reached out one trembling finger to brush against the blistered fingers which had once been so straight and strong.  "It burnt you, and it does not heal…"

"Nor would I want it to." His foster-father bowed his head in grief.  "'Tis set there in memory of the horrors I visited upon others, upon you."

"Aye, the horrors were great indeed, but your kindness to Elros and me was a brilliant star in the darkness of those days. Bear not needless pain for my sake.  Now, at the bitter end of things, I find that I am glad you are here.  Namarie."

And he slipped into oblivion.

Maglor cradled his head in his hands.

"Then I have failed at the last test. It is as Mandos prophesied: all the good I attempt turns to ill."

A gentle hand brushed his filthy hair.

"Do not judge yourself yet, kinsman," Celebrían said, swallowing down her own ruinous certainty that this was indeed the end. "For none among us can know what the morrow brings. Go now and rest while I await what must be."

As Maglor staggered from the room, barely able to hold himself upright in his exhaustion, she returned to her solemn vigil. Glorfindel went with him to guide this peculiar visitor to the guest chambers.

"Strange friends indeed may aid us in the hour of our greatest need."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Translations:

ion-nîn – my son.

pen-nîn tithen – my little one.

mellon-nîn – my friend.

namarie – farewell.


	7. The Longest Night

                                                                                    **In a Time of Sorrow**

**Chapter Seven**

Ai, ai … the ending hath come; the final chapter is here.  I hope you've enjoyed the show, and will leave my muse and me a review *g*

And to **Nemis** all the praise in the world, for doing a great job betaing this.  Any mistakes are my own, all the correct spellings are due to her patience, and all the chocolate in the world cannot make up for that.  

Everyone on **LJ** – well, you are insane, but thank you for the angst-support.  I've only one thing to say: lil' Valarlings.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the night grew old, death only seemed to increase its grip on Elrond, and Celebrían could feel the bond which connected her to her husband fraying under its grasping claws, stretching thinner and thinner as life ebbed away.

With surpassing tenderness, she drew a lock of sweat-dampened back from his pallid forehead, pressing it fervently to her lips.

"Ai, Elrond, your suffering is my suffering, and your death will be my death, your grave mine, in spirit, even if my body endures."

Her hand lingered on his skin, tracing each feature, fingertips skittering across the high bridge of his nose and trailing along the long arch of his black brows.  Desperately, all hope gone, she sought to memorise each last plane of his face, to store up precious moments for the long years of drought which awaited her.

_Sodden from her journey, clutched to her father's chest, wracked with sobs at the reunion, only to turn and catch her first glimpse of the Lord of Imladris, his noble countenance grave yet kind…_

_The scowl which had marred his face when she had marched, unannounced, into his study, his brows drawing together as he attempted to explain why he had not written a single missive to her in nigh on a century.  His tender laughter as he gave way before her relentless logic, and took her in his arms for the first time…_

_Watching him sleep, black lashes shuttered over serene starlight, as she basked in the glow of his attentions…_

_His merry, uproarious laughter, so little heard, as he had awoken to find her observing him in the half-light.  And the way he had drawn her to himself, his breath hot and ardent on her skin.  And the pleasures which had followed, all the while so certain of the endless Ages which unfurled before them…_

But now the tapestry was woven almost to its ending, and Time's ravelling skeins had juddered to the cruellest halt of all…

And the Sea was so very wide, and the years wider.

The elf-lord's face grew even more haggard, taking on a ghostly grey tinge. Celebrían wept openly until her tears soaked the trailing sleeves which she had used to dab at her swollen eyes in a most unladylike fashion. As she laid her head on the bed in despair a tentative hand placed itself atop her silver hair, toying with the disordered strands.

"Do not fear, my darling, for the dawn and the twilight are much alike, and we cannot truly know the glory of the one until we have seen the magnificence of the other," Elrond said wistfully, ignoring the spasms of pain which ripped through him.

Raising her eyes until they met his misted grey ones, Celebrían frowned at his cryptic words.

"Ai, meleth-nîn … what mean you?"

"Do not fear … do not fear…" he trailed off, arching off the bed from the pure agony which consumed him.

~*~

The dusky pink rays of the newborn sun filtered into the room, and a terrible sense of potency, of barely restrained power followed it, until the air itself seemed to thrum with expectancy.

Glancing up, her eyes filled with fear, Celebrían sought the source of this dread presence, as if by the force of her will, her love, alone, she could halt it.

Elrond's right hand rested on the coverlet, and upon it Vilya, which had seemed to dull and darken as the disease progressed, flared brilliantly. Its unearthly blue light illuminated every corner of the room, casting eerie shadows on their waiting faces.  A soft breeze blew through the chamber, redolent of the sea, and, whispering, she thought she could hear the crashing of waves and the thrum of the wind through the branches of far-off trees.

Then all was still, and it appeared to Celebrían, blinded in body and soul, that what she feared the most had come to pass. A terrible scream was ripped from her, a protest against fate for allowing such a thing.

She slumped back in the chair, weeping, not caring who heard her.

With a shock like lightning on a clear summer's day, she felt fingers entwine with hers and the flicker of a mind against her own. She looked up in amazement to see clear eyes, their fire restored, gazing upon her. The trickle of blood which had flowed from the corner of Elrond's mouth for interminable hours had ceased. Although the pulse under her questing hand was still weak, it beat with the insistent drum-roll of life, and the skin no longer burnt with a feverish heat.

"O Elrond, I love you." She hurled herself onto the bed, wrapping her limbs around him.

Elrond cradled her close, ignoring the discomfort which swept through him at her tight embrace, simply glad that he could hold her once more.

"I love you too. Did I ever tell you that?" he teased.

"Yes, but I shall never tire of hearing it."

"I love you more than anything else in Arda," he murmured against the skin of her neck.

After a few moments repose in which she snuggled into his body, enjoying the normal warmth which was seeping back into him, she trailed her hands down his torso.

"I can feel your every rib," she said seriously, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. "I must do something about that."

"I far prefer my task."

"And what is that?"

"Counting your freckles." 

"An elf-maiden does not have freckles," she said haughtily, but ruined the effect by kissing his ear with loving thoroughness.

"Well then, what can you be?" Elrond asked with a chuckle.

In response, Celebrían only giggled, burying her face in his hair.

"Ahem," Glorfindel coughed from the doorway, embarrassed by this show of affection between his dear friends.  His discomfiture turned to delight as he realised what he was witnessing.

"Oh… By the Power of all the Valar…"

Celebrían dissolved into yet more peals of laughter at the expression on his face, such was her relief at the turn events had taken. His eyes fixed on his beloved wife in mock reprimand, Elrond called, "Good morning, mellon iaur. As you can see, I am not yet strong enough to rise to greet you." 

"Good it is indeed. Shall I fetch your children?" Glorfindel's face was lit with merriment.

"No. Let them sleep a little longer. Go and get some rest yourself."

Although the golden-haired elf steeled himself to protest, weariness draped itself around him, and he acquiesced with a low bow.

Once the hero of Gondolin had retreated to his well-deserved repose, Elrond allowed himself to succumb to the lingering weakness in his limbs and flopped back onto the pillows.

"Melethril-nîn." He tugged at Celebrían's arm.

"Yes, my star-dome?"

"It would be more comfortable for both of us if you were under the sheets instead of on top of them."

"Elrond!" she protested. "You are too weak…"

The elf gave a delighted shout of laughter.

"I was not thinking of _that, my silver queen … or at least not yet. I merely wished to be close to you."_

Assured that her husband was not about to submit himself to premature but delightful exertions, Celebrían kicked off her shoes and crawled under the covers.

~*~

As the sun climbed higher in the sky they slept, not the uneasy doze of the fretful but the deep slumber of those truly at peace. It was thus that Maglor found them. 

"Ion-nîn!" He dropped to his knees by the bed, pressing one weak hand to his lips.  "You are well again…"

"Aye, thanks to you, and the power invested in your voice alone."

"'Twas not mine.  It was lent power."

"Nevertheless, may I thank you from the bottom of my heart, mellon?" Elrond smiled faintly.  "Do you remember what you called me?"

"Elmin…"

"Aye, 'twas better than the title of 'Scruff the First'…"

"…Which my brother suggested," Maglor finished.

"Well, may the first scruff invite you into his house?"

"Not yet. Peace shall not be mine yet. My wanderings are not done.  It is not given to me to return to my own people.  But I thank you for your invitation."  He got to his feet.  "Now I must depart once more, safe in the knowledge of your well-being."

He paused at the doorway, and turned back.

"Elrond?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations on your marriage."  He gestured to the maiden slumbering on the bed.  "You have chosen well, little one."

And with a last smile, he was gone, beckoned out into the wild lands.

~*~

Although Glorfindel had meant to sleep only briefly before informing the twins and Arwen of the happy turn of events, it was many hours before he awoke. He raised his head from the pillows and groaned as he thought of the tasks awaiting him, wishing that he could sink back into his dreams.  To sleep again untroubled had been a blessing indeed, but his duties called to him.

And it appeared that Halmir and his entourage had risen with the dawn chorus, prepared to do battle.

"I shall do no such thing," the elf was stating hotly as Glorfindel wandered into the council chamber, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I realise that Lord Elrond's Edain blood has incapacitated him, but I shall not take such insolence from his foolish children."

Elladan, who had reluctantly taken his father's place in the grand chair, leaned back and sighed heavily. Elrohir rolled his eyes, and Arwen beat out an impatient tattoo on the arm of her chair.

Smoothing his robes, Glorfindel took up his place beside them.

"My lord…" he began, checking the ire which rose within him.  "How may I assist you?"

"You may answer me this: do you honestly submit yourself to such half-elven follies?" the irascible elf snapped.

"I believe you will find that there is not much folly tolerate in this house," Glorfindel answered with his most sincere smile.  "Now, if we could move to more productive matters…"

"Such outrageous demands will never be acceded to by the people of the Havens…"

"Lord Halmir, may I assure you…"

The youngster who sat in the next seat look resigned to another tirade as his father continued.

 "I shall not discuss such things with you. If needs be, I shall wait until Elrond is in fit condition to listen to what I have to say." 

"What do you desire to speak of?" a melodious voice asked from the edge of the council chamber. Immediately, all heads swivelled towards it. There stood the Lord of Imladris, mantled in red velvet, a mithril circlet gleaming in his dark hair. As he walked forward, it was noticeable that he leaned on a sturdy cane and that his tall frame, even underneath many layers of thick cloth, was desperately thin.

With no deference to either decorum or diplomacy, his three children rushed towards him, but they paused suddenly, uncertain whether their exuberance would harm him. With one swift movement, Elrond engulfed them in his arms.

"Ada! Ada! You are with us!" There was no telling from which mouth the words came in the tangle of limbs. "You are well again."

"Not well, but recovering," Elrond amended in a voice which only they could hear, holding them tight, relishing his ability to do so.

Releasing his children, the Master of Rivendell looked sternly at the assembled multitude.

"I believe that we have business to discuss."

"Lord Círdan will never agree to these terms. They are completely unacceptable to our folk."

"How strange," Elrond mused, settling himself into his chair. "In his last letter, he was particularly emphatic that such clauses should be included. Moreover, I do not believe that in all the long years I have known the Shipwright he has ever expressed himself in such terms…"

"But…but…" Halmir spluttered and Glorfindel could not suppress a triumphant grin.

"I have no wish to press a settlement on the Havens which is unacceptable to them."  Elrond's eyes glittered strangely.  "But I suggest that you consider very carefully what is in the best interests of the folk you speak for, as I try to ascertain the needs of Imladris."

"My lord…" Halmir's pride was affronted to the point where he lost control of his temper.  "I know full well what must be done for those I serve, but I doubt you can claim the same."

"What mean you?" Elladan stormed, his face white with anger, only restrained from jumping up by his father's calming hand on his shoulder.

"My lord, it is common knowledge that you have been that you have been gravely ill."  Halmir's voice was unctuously concerned, his eyes predatory.  "Are you sure that your mind has yet recovered from the weakness of your body and you can exercise your judgement safely?"

Gelmir bowed his head into his hands, scarlet with humiliation, but a small smile played around Elrond's bloodless lips as he stood with slow care, deliberately discarding his cane, and strolled across the room.

"I confess that I could not wrestle a Balrog as Glorfindel here has … if I ever could, which I very much doubt."  A soft hum of amusement rippled through the room.  "Do you suggest that I recite the Ainulindalë in the original Quenya?"

"Mock me not, Lord Elrond.  I merely wish to know if you have the mental agility at this time to take part in complicated negotiations."

"Then I shall tell you this, and you may take it as proof or no as you wish." Elrond stood tall and proud in the centre of the council chamber, his black hair lit by the dappled rays of the sun.  No one noticed how he bit his lip to quell the whimper of pain which rose within him, nor the whiteness of his knuckles through the skin.  "Increased trade between Imladris and the Havens will benefit all, and I sincerely wish my people and yours to enjoy its bounty, but force and harsh words will avail me naught.  

"We cannot produce the fruits of the sea from the mountain waters of the Bruinen, and the Dwarves have not much trust in you, whereas they will deal freely with Imladris.  Thus, co-operation is reasonable.  Do I have your agreement on that?"

"Yes," Halmir admitted grudgingly.

"Well, then, let us proceed." Elrond lowered himself into his chair.  Arwen shot him a concerned look, painfully aware of the grey hue which tinged his face and the way he gritted his teeth to master the urge to collapse against the firm wood.  He shook his head almost imperceptibly to ward off her anxiety, and turned his attention back to the negotiations. 

~*~

After the long hours of wrangling, which nonetheless seemed to pass more swiftly than any had thought possible, the chamber was finally empty of all but Elrond, his children, and his two closest friends.

"Meleth-nîn." Celebrían stepped out of the shadowed corner where she had been waiting. "You stole from our bed while I was asleep to embark on this fool's errand. You may be restored to life, but you are not yet restored to health."

"Of that I am only too aware."  He braced himself against the arm of the chair.

"Come.  A bed awaits you, and a nice bowl of broth."

"To drink?"

"That is the intended purpose, not bathing."  She smiled, reaching out one hand to him.

Casting an apologetic look at the others, Elrond went with her obediently.

"Whatever you wish, my lady."

She pressed him gently against a pillar and bestowed a tender kiss on his lips. Releasing him with a sigh, she breathed, "I wish my husband as he was … the husband with whom I might dare to do more than this."

With a devious grin, Elrond followed her willingly, his arm slung around her shoulders, as much to feel her warm body pressed against his.

"I am at your service, hervess, until the ending of days."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Translations:

Elmin – star-one (as opposed to star-two for Elros).

Hervess – wife.


End file.
